Marco did not pace when he was angry.
He organized.
The estate's lower conference chamber had once been a wine vault. Now it hummed with quiet electricity, screens mounted along stone walls, cables running like veins across old marble. Human security specialists sat beside pack sentries, an uneasy alliance stitched together by necessity.
Marco stood at the center table, sleeves rolled, expression composed.
"Track every phone," he said calmly.
A technician blinked. "Every phone inside the estate?"
"Every active signal within a two-kilometer radius," Marco corrected. "Burner devices included."
One of the younger wolves muttered under his breath, "What the hell is a burner."
Marco didn't look at him. "Temporary numbers. Disposable hardware. Criminals use them."
Luca leaned against the far wall, arms folded, observing the humans with visible skepticism.
"You think this is a phone problem," Luca said.
